Entering, she looked backwards into a dog’s eye
and saw God, or just an eye. He got glared
and hid outside amongst the dewing yews.
She looked shywards behind a screened scene
and thought she heard a bedevilled lie
beating in the heart of hymn’s sweet music.
She looked upwards at stained figures that told tales,
where she recognized distant divisions
clashing over the colour of light.
Once or twice, an unholy trinity
had gathered in the shadow of the archway’s font
and fought over baptism’s fire,
pitching a plunge into wounded confusion.
The silent, stone knights slept on, guardians of
a trapped, cold anger geared for a fight:
three swords sheathed in watchful, frozen repose.
Out walking, something flicked across her vision
and flecked her eye. Wilderness left distant,
she looked skywards to the tranquillity
of wisping clouds and spotted a silver chain
of arcing duets, fleeting two by two.
She viewed the bathed landscape, as it lightened and blushed.
He art a caring muse, a friend, missed, misused.
The artist and the lark fused in a flicked prism
and, in the moment, dyed to evolve and live,
beyond a pursed world trapped in stark, granite finery
diminished by ornate words of withering judgement.
They brushed each other’s hued canvases
and feathers dipped and danced in life’s palette.
She stood weightless and distilled. And listened anew.
A found sound had sung and taken flight
and soared and soared and soared.